The New Kid
by oh-mother-of-darkness
Summary: Shortly after the events of Under the Red Hood, Jason returns to Gotham and runs into some folks he would rather avoid.


An hour ago, if somebody had told Jason that his night would get worse, he probably wouldn't have believed them— it was bad enough already. He was back in Gotham (the second time since he'd crawled out of his own tomb), and he'd immediately run into one of the people he'd really, really been hoping to avoid.

"Oh," the kid had said, "It's you."

That was all. He'd held his staff out warily too, which was reasonable, considering everything that had happened the last time the two of them had met. Honestly, Jason would have expected a stronger reaction. New kid was very calm.

Not so much anymore.

Fear toxin. Jason knew the feeling. He was fine, of course— safe underneath his helmet— but Drake didn't have that kind of cover, and he'd gone down quickly. He was lying in the alleyway, twitching quietly, and Jason didn't really know what to do about it.

It wasn't his concern, was it? He didn't ask Drake to show up. They weren't working together— they'd met up completely by accident, chasing the same lead. This kind of thing happened sometimes; Lord knew Jason had been through enough of Crane's fearscapes in his time.

Which was making it really hard to leave, even though that was absolutely what he should be doing. Running. Before Batman showed up.

"Dammit," Jason muttered, bending over the other kid's body. "Hey, listen— you gotta get back to the cave. I don't have an antidote for this stuff. Can you walk?" Drake didn't respond, so Jason reached out a hand, intending to shake him awake.

That did the trick— before Jason could make contact, the other kid pushed himself upright and dragged himself backwards, away from Jason and against the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Don't touch me."

"Fine." Jason could respect that. "Whatever. Go home. Can you make it by yourself?"

Drake's eyes closed again— his hands, clasped around his legs, were shaking. Jason could hear him hyperventilating. He had about thirty seconds, Jason figured, before the hallucinations started, and that meant no, he couldn't get home by himself. He wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Alright," he decided. "I've got a bike a few streets over. I can carry you to the—"

"I said no _._ " Drake was struggling to breathe now, shuddering with the effort of it. His eyes were wide behind his mask. He scooped up his staff from the asphalt and leveled it at Jason, forcing him a few steps back down the street. "Get away from me."

"Kid—"

"I said get away!" He stared at Jason, past Jason, blankly. The nightmares had started— who knew what he was seeing now? It could be anything. In a hellpit like Gotham, there were infinite options.

But Jason needed to get him home, so he took a step forward and grabbed the end of the staff, trying to wrench it away. Drake didn't take that well.

"No!" He yanked back his staff and then jabbed it at Jason's chest. "I'm sorry, okay! I didn't mean to— I didn't—" He was still gasping for air. "I was just trying to help. You were dead! How was I supposed to know you would—?"

Oh, Jason though, he's still talking to me. I'm in his fearscape. Great.

"I thought he needed—"

Jason pulled the staff away and threw it behind him, back towards the mouth of the alley. "Yeah yeah, you thought he needed you. I get it."

"He needed _you._ Next best thing." Drake threw his arms in front of his head, trying to shield his face. "Please don't…"

 _Christ_. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Just… stay there for a bit. I'm backing away now. See?" Jason retreated up the alley with his hands held out in front of him. Maybe that would make Drake feel better.

What was he supposed to do? He wouldn't be able to take Drake home himself, not if he was going to fight like that the entire way. He didn't have many options. He could leave— he probably should leave. The toxin would wear off eventually. With all of the confusion, the other kid might not even remember that Jason was actually there— he would be another hallucination.

Or. Jason pulled out his phone and stared at the empty screen. He could—

Dammit. _Dammit._ Fine. He chose the lesser of two evils and dialed.

"Grayson."

"Who is this?"

"Hey so remember how there's another kid running around in our cape?"

 _"_ _Jason?"_

"Obviously. Anyway, I'm gonna need you to come pick him up. We're at the back of Crime Alley."

"What did you do?" Dick's voice went all hard and angry, the way it usually did when Jason was around.  
"I didn't do anything. I found him like this." That wasn't technically true, but Grayson didn't need to know it.

"Is he okay?"

"Crane. He'll be fine. Come get him."

"I'm not in the city. Call the manor."

"You're _what_?"

"You heard me. Unless you've got an hour and a half for me to drive in—"

"I don't."

"Then you know what you're going to have to do, don't you? Call Bruce."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Do you need me to remind you of his number or—"

"No! Of course I don't—" Jason pulled his phone away from his face for a few seconds so he could glare at it properly. " _You_ call him."

"I'm not calling anybody. Suck it up and dial."

"I can't be here when he comes." Grayson knew that— he'd seen the last time. The first time in years. There was a reason Jason avoided this godforsaken swamp of a city and that reason was named Bruce Wayne— he wasn't welcome.

Grayson, of course, didn't seem to care.

"Don't you dare leave Tim."

"Who the hell do you think I am? I'm not going to do that."

"I'm not really sure, am I? Bruce said you tried to blow him up in an abandoned apartment. We didn't even know if you were still alive."

"Well, geez!" Jason threw his free hand into the air. "It must be Tuesday."

"I don't have time for your bullshit right now. Call Bruce."

I don't—"

"I need to hear you say yes."

"Fine." Jason clicked off the line before Grayson could say anything else. Just like the old days, he thought. Should have seen that one coming a mile up the road.

He walked back down the alley to check on Drake. He was down on the ground again, curled into a tight ball, muttering to himself— Jason couldn't hear what.

"Hey… Tim." Jason had trouble even getting the name out. He didn't like to think of Tim as his own person— just "that other kid" or "the new one." Replacement. Impostor. Whichever. He figured he would give it one more go before he had to deal with Batman. "Are you—?"

Tim didn't move. He probably couldn't. There went Jason's last shot.

Jason took a deep breath. It wasn't that big of a deal, really. He'd done this before.

The phone rang twice before Bruce picked up.

"Hello."

"Hey."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then Bruce's voice. "Jason?"

"I found your sidekick tripping on fear toxin in Crime Alley. I assume you want to come get him. I'll wait until you get here, but then I'm gone." He hung up. There it was. He was screwed— officially. No point fighting it now.

Jason settled down on the curb to wait, one eye on Drake behind him and one on the mouth of the alley. Five minutes, he figured.

In the end, it was less than that. He could hear the batmobile coming a long way off— you didn't forget the sound of that engine. It pulled into the top of the alley, and Bruce stepped out. To Jason's surprise, he marched right past him— not even a second glance on his way over to Tim. Bruce knelt in front of him.

Jason didn't hear much of what he said, just the affectionate kind of murmuring you used to calm small animals and "Robin" a few times. The sound of it made him feel sick. That was _his_ name. That was his— something. Bruce was his something. But watching him with Tim was like getting hit in the head (and Jason would know); hours of surveillance footage, hundreds of photographs combining into one image: Batman and Robin, for real— just look at them. Drake really was Robin now, and all of a sudden, Tim wasn't the only one that was having trouble breathing.

Jason leaned back against the wall. He'd meant to use this time to run, while Bruce was distracted, over the rooftops and away. Instead, he found that he couldn't move. He was stuck in that alleyway, watching them together.

Bruce gathered Tim up in his arms and slid him into the backseat of the batmobile. Only then did he focus on Jason.

"Get in the car."

Jason shook his head. "You got your kid. Your responsibility to take care of him."

"Now."

"I'm not saying you're great at it, because obviously—"

"Get in the _car,_ Jason."

So Jason did. He climbed into the front seat, grateful that Bruce couldn't see his face behind the hood, and he tried his best to ignore everything— the familiar feeling of riding shotgun behind those tinted windows or Bruce talking gently to Tim the entire trip to the cave. He didn't stop. It was the only thing that seemed to calm him down.

Not much changed in five years. Just a few gray hairs and a Robin or two.

Even the cave looked exactly the same, or pretty close. Jason climbed out of the car by himself, while Bruce carried Tim into the medical bay— it was incredible. He could only spot one difference. There was a glass case glinting in one of the spotlights, and Jason wandered over to take a look.

He was halfway across the floor when he realized what it was. His uniform. That was his. Oh god. He wondered briefly if Bruce had pulled it off his corpse, but that was ridiculous— that one would have been shredded beyond repair. Jason stood frozen in front of it, heart beating way too fast.

He couldn't do this. He didn't want to watch Batman and Robin anymore. He just wanted to leave, and there was nothing stopping him— Bruce was with Tim. Of course he was. That was who mattered, wasn't it?

Jason walked out the back door. All of his codes still worked. Anyway, he doubted Bruce would even notice he was gone.


End file.
